


Plenty

by Gilli_ann



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilli_ann/pseuds/Gilli_ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin gets his characteristic boots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plenty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Merlin characters belong to Shine and the BBC.

** Plenty **

“These ones! These ones!”

The boy is skipping on his feet, knobbly body flailing with enthusiasm as he tries to communicate how much, how incredibly much he _wants_ , and _needs_ , and simply _must have_ , in order to ever be happy in this life again.

His mother studies his expressive, lanky frame, her fond eyes wandering down to his restless feet and back up to his eager face.

The travelling cobbler stays silent, watchful, clever enough to realize that the young customer is doing his sales pitch for him, and to better effect than his own well-practised spiel. He gestures to the woman, a small palm-upward movement, a twitch of his lips, indicating that it's up to her.

The boy's blue eyes go wide, shimmering with hope.

“Oh, pleeease? Look, they're the perfect fit!”

She nearly smiles at this blatant attempt to woo her with a practical argument.

In truth, the soft and supple boots are somewhat too large. Until he grows into them they should nevertheless fit him well enough, as long as he wears his pair of thick knitted socks. But they look like something a lord's jester would wear to attract attention. They're decorated with a row of useless leather straps with impractical metal buckles, making them needlessly expensive. She's looking at many a lean supper for the two of them, should she give in to his puppy-dog pleading. And the boy does need meat on his bones. He's far too thin.

And yet.

She bites her lip.

They live a frugal life, a careful hand-to-mouth existence. He's used to making do with very little, never complaining, always helping her, such a good son. She easily sees how the numerous showy, shiny buckles make the boots tempting, irresistible, a glorious dash of scintillating opulence and plenty to a boy who has never needed to use the word _many_ about his earthly possessions.

Hunith nods.

“Very well, Merlin. You may have those boots.”


End file.
